I loved just about everything about working in the gift shop. The work was easy, the hours were good, and I was a genuine fan of our product range. With just one exception, I also got on really well with all my colleagues. I was pleased that – so far – none of the others had picked up my dislike of the woman secretly known to me and TPR as the SEB.
The SEB always liked to be the centre of attention. If necessary, she would manufacture a crisis to ensure that this was the case. Her latest ploy had been to buy up every personalised car number plate that offered a possible association with her name. She arranged for the plates to be fixed to cars, and then for each car to be allocated a driver. She instructed the drivers to rack up as many speeding tickets as they could.
As the inevitable fines for dangerous driving eventually reached the SEB (as the owner and assumed driver of all these vehicles) she had the perfect excuse to moan at work that she was the victim of a witch hunt. She claimed that she had no idea of how this had happened.
I, however, was completely au fait with her devious ways. I was sorely tempted to reveal all when the time was right.